


Vomit in the Summer

by blueblood (sangreazul)



Series: chartered lives [2]
Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Canonical Character Death, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Friends With Benefits, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:55:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27902575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sangreazul/pseuds/blueblood
Summary: Having got used to spending the anniversary of Sam's death alone, Nate makes the mistake of staying over at Flynn's for the days surrounding it one year and Flynn, unknowingly, makes the mistake of confessing his love for Nate on the exact anniversary..GREY.
Relationships: Nathan Drake/Harry Flynn
Series: chartered lives [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2098251
Kudos: 6





	Vomit in the Summer

**Author's Note:**

> i literally dk why i wrote this (also this was written on my phone with Loud music playing in the background so i bet theres a shit ton of mistakes/formatting is crap sorry in advance) 
> 
> my heart cant take writing angst for rafe/nate but i needed to get it out somehow so!

It was scorching outside, seriously hammering the heat down, and Nate could see it in air as waves. He focused on them to stop the rest of the world spinning and to somehow settle the sickness rising in the pit of his stomach. He didn't think he would necessarily throw up, but he did have a tendency to be wrong in times like this. 

It was boiling, right in the middle of summer, the rainy season in South America, and the melting skin season in London. Nate cursed whichever god had convinced him that it was a good idea to show up at Flynn's apartment a week early with no warning and let three days slip by while they stayed in bed and drank beer. He was meant to go, before today at least, or maybe even stick to the original plan, if he was feeling generous, and skip this shitstorm completely. ..perhaps not completely. Flynn's feelings wouldn't change in a week, but, come on, the least he could've done was give him some warning. 

So now he was standing on the balancy of his fuckbuddy's (for lack of a less intimate term) apartment in a city he barely knew being told that Harry Flynn was in love with him on the 3rd anniversary of his brother's death. 

Nate spent this day alone, he always did, shutting the door on Sully and desperately opening the fourth bottle of Jack Daniels. He would sob, big ugly tears getting caught in his throat, out of anger and frustration and throw the empty bottles against the walls watching them smash in front of him, chaining himself to his shitty apartment lest he be taken over by a manic fit while driving. He would throw up in the shower and cook Sam's favourite food just to watch it burn in the oven. He didn't know what he was doing, let alone why, and half the time he couldn't remember, but he was always isolated. Full of rage, a kind he couldn't take out on anyone, especially not the insensitive, taunting face of Flynn. 

The face of Flynn. Nate didn't dare turn his attention back to him. He was expecting a response, anything by this point really, caught between a tense moment and relief, being cruelly denied the latter. He heard him tapping his foot absent-mindedly; Flynn could be such a fucking hypocrite, making some snarky remark everytime Nate so much as twitched but then resorting to it as soon as the atmosphere got the slightest bit uncomfortable. Everything hurt. He felt hungover, and he probably was. 

Flynn said something, softly, or maybe he was just muffled in Nate's mind. He couldn't make it out. And the voice. God, it.. it made him want to rip his hair out of his skull. If he could just shut up for once, for a second, maybe Nate could think this through and decide how he wanted to approach all of this. But he didn't, he kept talking. Saying his name or something. Over compensating. Over.. everything. Everything. 

So Nate just screamed. Nothing, not one word, but he screamed. And it sounded like bloody murder, but, by god, did it shut Flynn the fuck up. He shouted until the air from his lungs was used up. Flynn had taken multiple steps back, utter shock plastered across his face. He looked as if he was going to cry. His bottom lip trembled. Good. Nate finally breathed in again. And out. He saw a tear from his face fall to the tiles; he didn't know how it got there. 

The silence rang in their ears for the time it took for Nate to muster up the voice inside him to speak finally. A smile forced its way across his lips as he glanced back up at Flynn, who was still recoiled from Nate's earlier... actions. He laughed dryly. "How much alchol do you have here and how can we get more?" 

Hours passed, the whole day was nearly done by this point, even though it drifted by slower than any other year. Flynn had tried so hard to talk him normally again, joke around and completely forget that he had confessed his love for Nate that morning, but Nate noted every awkward glance and unnerved grin throughout the course of their drinking. He didn't ask what was genuinely wrong, probably scared that the answer would be what he said earlier. So they talked about anything else and it almost seemed like any other drunk day with him. 

It had apparently fooled Flynn too, because he pressed his lips against Nate's in desperation to end the day how they usually did, and Nate let himself get kissed for a while, eyes half open in the melting sunlight. He liked the feeling of someone else being there and the unpredictable change of pressure every so often helped him stay grounded for a few minutes. It was only when Flynn moved to kiss his neck that he pushed him back in one aggreasive movement. 

Flynn looked at him, half drunk, with confusion and hurt. "We're done, Flynn." Nate didn't mean for the statement to be completely void of emotion, but he couldn't bring himself to feel any of it.  
"What?" He managed to choke out as a whispered response.  
Nate hauled himself up from the living room floor. Empty bottles were scattered across the room; Sully had warned him once about mixing drinks. He could distantly feel his head buzzing. "I'm not in love with you." He drove home, after narrowly missing the poorly aimed bottles being hurled as his back as he walked out of the apartment. He didn't say anything that wasn't true. And he needed to throw up. And scream again.


End file.
